Man Eater (29 page)

He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Generally encased in long patrician tunics, a girl doesn’t expect a sudden plethora of thighs all over her bedroom. Especially firm, bronzed, muscular ones. Not when there’s just one small light flickering in the darkness. And definitely not when the room you’re in seems to shrink and shrink to the size of a closet. Claudia drained her glass in one swallow.

‘You were wrong about Sergius.’ That should put Hotshot in his place. ‘He told me he gets these bouts from time to time— Are you listening to me?’

‘What do you know about Tulola’s husband?’

Obviously not. ‘Only that he walked out on her eons back and she still gets uppity.’ It would be truer to say that the merest mention of the subject and Tulola goes ape.

‘Do you know why?’

‘She was shaking her tail feathers beyond the confines of the nuptial couch, behaviour which apparently failed to coincide with her husband’s views on love, loyalty, marriage and fidelity.’

‘No, I meant do you know why she won’t have his name so much as mentioned?’

Tulola is not a girl who takes lightly to being dumped. ‘I can guess.’ She seeks revenge on all men.

‘I’d bet you a quail to a quadran you’d be wrong.’ He stood up and stretched his arms upwards towards the ceiling. ‘Suppose I tell you the husband comes home one night, discovers Tulola’s been playing around, they have an almighty row and he walks out?’

Claudia felt the tension pull in her neck and in her shoulders as she wondered where this was leading.

‘Then suppose I tell you that he’s never heard of again? That she takes his clothes, his books, his lyre, dumps them in a pile and makes a bonfire? What would you say to that?’

What indeed. ‘You’re suggesting it was an excuse for a funeral pyre?’

‘Not necessarily, I was merely canvassing your opinion, but it’s interesting how we both arrived at similar scenarios.’

He wandered across to the table, rattled the dice cup and tipped out the contents. ‘Full house,’ he chuckled. ‘Would you believe it?’

Claudia quickly scooped up the dice and tucked them into the folds of her pale blue gown. Of course they’d turn up a different face. They were weighted to!

‘Then there’s Pallas,’ he continued, pouring the thin, white wine into the gaming cup. ‘Where does he fit in?’

‘Not many of his tunics, that’s for sure.’

Orbilio refilled Claudia’s glass and passed it across. ‘By his own admission he’s been here two years, almost as long as the newlyweds. I trust there aren’t three on
our
honeymoon.’

I shall ignore that. ‘Four, actually. You’re forgetting Tulola.’

‘Five, then. We’re both forgetting Euphemia.’

For several moments they stood together by the open window watching the moon bleach the treetops and turn the clouds to silver, and the silence grew. It took on a life force all of its own. It began to condense, heat, pulsate. There was too much of him, she decided. The short tunic, the smell of sandalwood, that one bare shoulder with a little scar just to the left of…

‘One thing struck me as odd.’ Why the hell did she blurt that out? ‘Sergius was bloody quick off the mark when it came to summoning Macer.’

‘Meaning that finding his house guest stab a stranger in the dead of night is
not
?’

‘Don’t be obtuse, Orbilio, it’s beneath you.’

‘After the names you’ve called me lately, I thought nothing would fit.’ It was the moonlight, of course, that looked as though his eyes were sparkling. ‘So, what’s worrying you? You think Sergius set you up?’

‘Uh-uh. He went white as a sheet when Macer made his accusation, but I have a feeling he knows more than he’s letting on.’ She tapped one finger thoughtfully on the windowsill. ‘Maybe Fronto stumbled on to the training programme and asked too high a price for his silence?’

‘Why send for the might of the military? Sergius would more likely want it hushed up.’

‘Full circle,’ she replied, ‘and that’s what’s so damned peculiar.’ A vixen screamed across the valley, tightening the screw of tension. Blood throbbed in Claudia’s ear. ‘If Sergius is on the level, he could have dealt with the matter himself, and if he’s not, why play cat and mouse with the Prefect? Why aren’t you drinking your wine?’

‘Uh—stomach ulcer.’ He patted his rough, hessian belt. ‘Right here. Very tender.’

‘I thought it was the other side?’

‘Eh? Oh, the pain moves about. Wicked. What do you know about arson?’

The nearness of his profile began to irritate her. ‘It wasn’t me.’ She could see every line, every goddamned crevice. ‘Subject closed.’ Bloody moonlight.

‘Wrong words to use to a policeman who is both tenacious and uncompromising.’ Today’s dust was still lodged in his throat, why else was his voice even deeper and huskier?

‘Born under the sign of the Bull, were we?’ Any second now, the ceiling would come brushing her head and the walls smash together like the Clashing Rocks off Sicily.

He shot her a suspicious glance. ‘What makes you ask?’

‘You give out so much of it, it was an obvious conclusion.’ Someone was already sucking the oxygen out of the room.

‘I think it’s time to join the party.’ She turned to face the open window, resisting the impulse to gulp the fresh air. ‘Sounds like they’ve started without us.’

‘We don’t have to join them,’ he spoke so quietly she could barely make out the words. ‘Not if you don’t want to.’

What I
want,
Marcus Cornelius, is for you to take me in your arms, to feel you pressed against me so tight I can hear both our hearts beating at once. ‘Of course I bloody want to.’ It’s a party, right?

She heard a loud exhalation, smelled the sweetness of rosemary on his breath. ‘I see.’ There was a terrible long pause. ‘Well, for gods’ sake, be careful, will you? Three people are dead before their time, one attempt has already been made on your life—’

‘These points didn’t seem to trouble you when you followed me to Tarsulae.’

‘Pre-empted,’ he said stiffly. ‘Running away won’t help one iota.’ He leaned forward, and now she could smell sandalwood and juniper as well. ‘I’ll protect you as much as I can—’

‘I don’t need a bloody nursemaid,’ she snapped. And I don’t need your dark eyes under my nose reminding me how bloody handsome you are, and I don’t need that damned sandalwood stinking my wine…

‘Oh, yes, you do!’ he barked back. ‘Stop pretending, Claudia. You thrive on risk. You get high on the odds, that desperate thrill of uncertainty, those heart-stopping near misses—’

Her eyes flashed in the lamplight. ‘How dare you preach at me!’

‘Preach? You think my job’s different? Compulsion, addiction, obsession, call it what you like, Claudia, it drives me the same as it drives you, only with me there’s a difference.’

‘Damn right. I’m free to go where I choose, with whoever I choose and whenever I choose, and you know what, Orbilio? I’ve had just about enough of you.’ This room’s not big enough to take both of us. ‘Now get out!’

‘Dammit, woman—’

‘Out!’

‘Listen for a minute. I’m on equal footing with the villains, I know their game and the rules they play by, but out there is another player,’ he jabbed his thumb towards the banqueting hall, ‘with a very different set of rules.’

Claudia wanted to scream, Don’t you think I don’t know that? Don’t you think I’m not starting at shadows every time I leave the sanctuary of these four walls? That every time I see Alis or Corbulo or Barea I wonder are they going to turn on me and slit my throat?

She gave a short, hollow laugh. How can you get through to an over-rich, over-confident, overpowering sexual magnet like Supersnoop? You can tell him you’re frightened, he’d understand that, and sure, he’ll be happy to comfort you…for the night. But try telling him how deep it
really
goes. That with danger comes a fire in your belly you never want extinguished. That unless you feel the cold thrill of horror you don’t feel truly alive. How can you explain the passion, the craving, the hunger for this prodigal life force to Marcus Know-it-all Orbilio?

On the other hand, survival was high on Claudia’s agenda and extra security (no matter what tall, dark, handsome form it came packaged in) was not to be sniffed at. Sergius’ guards had done bugger all when she was nearly fed to the crocodiles—and, as for the army, Macer had laughed in her face. Fed up with house arrest, was she? Well, he had a nice warm lock-up available if she preferred,

And Marcus had a point. The attack could come from anywhere… Since there was no obvious suspect, the whole family fell under suspicion. Claudia parted her lips and hoped it resembled a suitably abject smile. ‘Let’s call a truce.’

It seemed to take a fair bit of adjustment on his part, but Orbilio caved in eventually. He lifted his gaming cup, still full of wine. ‘To you,’ he said.

‘To peace,’ she corrected. Why was it from this angle the moon lit exactly one half of his face and that one paltry little flame managed to light the other?

Orbilio kissed the lip of the dice cup to the lip of her glass. ‘What about to friendship?’

She felt her heart thumping against her ribcage, and when she nodded, albeit reluctantly, a curl fell over her eye. ‘To friendship.’ Dammit, where did that stupid little quiver in her voice come from?

‘What about to,’ his own pitch had dropped to a gruff rasp, ‘to more than friendship?’

A pulse was beating at the base of his throat, and Claudia watched the light of the lantern flicker in the shine of his unruly mop, saw it reflect dark hairs on the back of his hand.

So much from one little flame, how hard it has to work in the cloying blackness.

Too much.

‘Too soon,’ she said, and the faience pendant round her neck threatened to choke her.

‘Too bad.’ Orbilio’s face broke into a sad, lopsided grin and, taking Claudia’s nose between his thumb and his index finger, he gave it a gentle tweak. ‘That really is too bloody bad,’ he said quietly.

XXIV

The party was in full swing by the time Marcus Cornelius Orbilio had composed himself. On the pretext of checking the security of the courtyard, the animal sheds, the barns and the outhouses, his feet had covered some considerable distance and it was only now, standing barefoot on the marble floor of the atrium, that he fully appreciated the benefits of his own handmade patrician boots. Making his inspection, Orbilio had been only too glad of the cheap woollen tunic which itched and the rough leather sandals which flipped and flopped and chafed and blistered. They took his mind off a woman with wild curls and wilder eyes who kindled a white-hot passion inside him.

For the past hour or more he had breathed nothing but the acid stench of animal ordure, yet he could taste only the heavy, heady spice of her perfume. Was he being fanciful in thinking, in that distinctive mix of rare aromatics, there was a faint hint of the Indus Valley, the subtle fragrance of Babylonian lilies? He had been to Babylonia, spent long, hot nights under her stars as longhaired men in embroidered robes played thin and haunting melodies for the dancing girls, and he still remembered how those same girls jangled as they swayed in time to the music and the graceful way they arched under his love-making.

He wanted to take Claudia to Babylon, to Nineveh, now, this minute. He wanted to show her the wide, open skies, the rich, fertile plains, feel the baking sun of the desert, the sluggish pull of the Euphrates. He wanted to sail with her down the Tigris, show her ancient sites and magical rites, mysteries and pyramids and strange symbols etched on the walls. But most of all, by the gods yes, most of all he’d wanted to pull her into his arms and claim her as his own.

There on her bed, which was soft and springy and smelled of nothing but her, he had wanted to kiss and caress her, slowly, tenderly, nibbling and nuzzling until the crowing of the cock when the first motes of dust danced in shafts of early-morning sunshine and then—and then—

Orbilio rammed his feet back into his penitent sandals and winced at the blisters with an emotion close to pleasure. He was so close, dammit, so close! Spearing his fingers through his hair, he remembered the rise and fall of her breasts in that slinky blue tunic, the one wayward curl which caught in her eyelashes, the way her tongue darted over her lips to cover the tremor in her voice.

He could have pursued it.

Then and there, she was ripe for the taking, he knew it, she knew it. One hair’s breadth, that’s how close he was. A hair’s breadth from heaven and, Orbilio swallowed, equally a hair’s breadth from hell. To seduce her then, while she was vulnerable, and he would have lost her for ever. Janus, though, how he had burned for her. Still burned for her—

He steadied one hand against a column and thought how a man should make love to Claudia Seferius. Of the hundred lamps on every windowsill, chest, table and chair. Of a night full of laughter and longing, passion and pain. He imagined the lingering build-up, the tantalizing and the teasing, the stopping and the starting. Mother of Tarquin, the knowledge that he’d have to wait weeks, maybe months, wrenched at his gut, but to put a halter on Claudia Seferius would, at this moment, be like trying to bottle moonlight. At the Pictor family shrine, Marcus Cornelius poured a libation.